


Soft as Silk

by run_sure_footed



Series: Before Kipo [2]
Category: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)
Genre: Antagonistic Relationship, Choking, M/M, Pillow Talk, Repressed Frogs, Theft, accidental injury, nothing graphic, poor communication, post-sex, vaguely described injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26004937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/run_sure_footed/pseuds/run_sure_footed
Summary: Some post-sex conversation.
Relationships: Harris/Jamack (Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts)
Series: Before Kipo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878325
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Soft as Silk

Jamack tried not to let his chest heave as he caught his breath, not wanting to seem as overwhelmed as he actually was. He was still awash with pleasure, cum dripping off the side of his hip. He could tell Harris was out of breath too, but as soon as they were done, they tended to fall back into the usual Mod Frog way, unwilling to show any sign of weakness to each other. Still. He could savour a few more moments of weakness.

It was a few weeks after mating season ended, and there was no sign of their dalliances stopping. Jamack kept waiting for Harris to end it, but he didn’t. They hadn’t gone any further than their first time, only stroking each other, Jamack choking Harris. It was still new, and neither of them were communicating any need for more, even if Jamack was eager to try anything and everything.

He lay on his side, pressed against Harris, who was flopped on his back. He stroked his hand over Harris’ stomach, down just above the opening of his cloaca and all the way back up to his chest. He was so _soft_ , his skin so much softer and more delicate than Jamack’s. He absolutely loved it, was starting to feel almost addicted to it. Still, he wasn’t about to stop.

Harris looked down at Jamack’s hand and snorted, a slow grin spreading across his face. He didn’t say anything. He knew he didn’t need to.

“Shut up,” Jamack groaned. It was something they said to each other often these days, sometimes even without the other Frog having said something. A look was enough.

“Mm-hmm.” Harris’ grin somehow got even wider. “Why do you do that?” he asked, not moving. It was one thing that they were still cuddled up next to each other—everyone knew that was Jamack’s fetish. And, while he’d never admit it aloud, Harris enjoyed it too. He wasn’t sure when he’d crossed the line between cuddling for Jamack’s sake and cuddling for cuddling’s sake—or, if he was being brutally honest, if that line had ever actually existed—but what Jamack was doing was just so bizarre. Even by Jamack-standards. The cuddling made a certain kind of sense, even if it was exceedingly uncouth—it made Jamack feel as good as Harris. He got as much, if not more, than he gave. And it was passive. The two of them were simply lying still, their skin touching. But the belly-petting that Jamack indulged in more and more, both before and after sex… That, Harris couldn’t figure out. It felt, admittedly, rather nice. It also gave him the sense of vulnerability he was coming to crave from his time with Jamack. Jamack was large enough, strong enough, to hurt him quite badly without much effort, but he… _trusted_ …Jamack not to. It was an itchy, uncomfortable, grinding feeling. The strength of that feeling frightened him, and maybe it was simply the fear drawing him in, but he wasn’t _sure_. He knew he really should shy away from it, but no, he kept coming back, and he didn’t know _why_. Maybe if he knew Jamack’s _why_ , it would help him figure out his own.

Jamack gave him a clearly unamused look. When Harris’ gaze didn’t leave his face, it was clear he wasn’t going to just drop it. He scowled, his hand stilling—not leaving his skin, but no longer stroking. “I can stop.” He had a feeling that wasn’t what Harris wanted either.

Harris’ whole body tensed, and he barely kept himself from shaking his head. “You…don’t have to,” he said finally, the closest he would get to asking for more. For telling Jamack not to stop. “I just want to know _why_ ,” he said again, more softly this time. He shifted, ever so slightly, so he was rolled against Jamack, leaning his weight—what little there was—against his companion.

Jamack’s hand slid up over Harris’ pale stomach, then back down over the beautifully bright stripes marking his side. He smirked, knowing Harris wasn’t going to like his answer. “You’re just so _soft_.”

Harris stiffened again, this time with indignation. _“Soft!”_

“Yeah, you haven’t noticed? You feel like silk compared to me.” Compared to any of the other Frogs, Jamack was sure. Not that he’d touched anyone besides Harris since they were froglets, but Harris had always been different. It was his big red eyes that stood out the most and called the most attention to him, but Jamack knew him intimately enough to know the other differences between him and most Mod Frogs. His underbelly was almost white, his sides were striped, he had brilliant-blue marks travelling down his arms and legs, and his hands and feet were orange rather than green, with no webbing at all. He couldn’t swim. All Frogs had a second set of eyelids, but on Harris they were lined with beautiful gold whorls. But beyond all that, even, his skin was softer, and more delicate. He bruised easily, and even bumping against concrete often brought up a bloody scrape.

That decided it. Harris pushed Jamack’s arm away huffily. “I’m not that soft!” He rolled onto his side, almost slapping a hand down on Jamack’s much rounder stomach. “You’re soft here too!” he protested. He didn’t pet Jamack, not the way Jamack had petted him. He just kept his hand still. He wanted to move it. He wanted to yank it back like he’d been burned. He did neither.

“My skin’s thicker than yours.” Jamack grinned, putting his hand back on Harris. “In more ways than one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harris demanded, kicking out at any part of Jamack within his range, which happened to be his leg. With his foot, he could feel how much rougher—and, yes, _thicker_ —Jamack’s skin was. He was tempted to feel his own belly, now that he’d touched Jamack’s, so he could compare it for himself, but he wouldn’t give Jamack the satisfaction.

Jamack laughed and, instead of moving away from the sharp kicks, merely rolled on top of Harris, effectively pinning him. He rested his chin on Harris’ thin shoulder. “I think you know what I mean.”

“Well, you’d know what _silk_ feels like, wouldn’t you?” Harris taunted him, rather breathlessly, his usual wild grin once again in place.

Jamack’s grin disappeared. “Oh, fuck off.”

Harris’s smile softened a hair. “I never told anyone you took it. Could’ve.”

“I know,” Jamack said with a grimace. “We always watched out for each other. Even when we did stupid things.”

“When _you_ did stupid things. I only did _necessary_ things. Just like now.” Harris crossed his arms beneath his head, gazing up at the endless stars above them and ignoring the Frog directly on top of him. “Why _did_ you steal a silk tie?” he asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it anyway. Wanting to make Jamack say it.

It was pretty much the same answer Jamack gave when Harris asked why he liked to touch his skin. It was soft and he’d wanted it, wanted to touch it. He’d coveted it, waiting for an opportunity before stealing it and hiding it, only taking it out to enjoy when he was alone—until Harris caught him, of course. “I just… _wanted_ it.” He didn’t really have a word for the way he craved touching something soft. Something unusual. Something rare and precious. Not only that, but it was a status symbol he wanted so badly.

Harris nodded, shifting his focus back to Jamack. “You’ve always been…” He didn’t have a word, either. He felt a little cruel, or at least insensitive, for his remark about the tie. Normally he would’ve counted it as a few points in his favour in their eternal, on-going rivalry, but now… He knew it was Jamack’s prized possession. And that Jamack hoped to earn a silk tie, legitimately, one day. “Silk is stupid, anyway. It gets ruined if it gets wet.” He wasn’t sure if that made what he’d said better or worse, but it was the only thing he had to offer.

And he’d never told anyone it was Jamack who’d stolen the tie.

Though, thinking about it now as a fully grown Frog, he realized the Boss had to have known. Who else would steal a fucking silk tie? He couldn’t help but wonder why she’d never punished him for it. Maybe she thought it would make him hungrier, strive harder. That’s what he thought it had done, anyway.

Jamack shrugged, his hand roaming again, this time up Harris’ chest and over his shoulder. He felt an irregularity there and frowned. Getting up enough to look over Harris’ shoulder to where Jamack had bitten him earlier that night, he made a quiet noise of distress. “You’re bleeding.”

Harris didn’t have to move his head very far to see his own shoulder. He’d easily be able to see his entire back if he sat up a little farther. He saw what had drawn Jamack’s attention, and he snorted again. There was a tiny drop of blood, smaller than one of his fingertips. “You bit me there. Or have you forgotten? Do you bite so many Frogs that you just can’t keep track?” He meant it to sound teasing, but there was an edge to his words that he hadn’t intended at all.

Jamack scowled at him. He sat up enough to straddle Harris’ chest, looking over the mark he’d inadvertently left. It wasn’t so much that he’d punctured the skin—his teeth were hardly sharp—it was far more like he’d torn it by pulling. It had simply given way under the pressure, opening up. It wasn’t much of an injury, but Jamack still felt almost ill seeing it. His love of Harris’ soft, delicate skin was suddenly rife with the fear of hurting him.

“What?” Harris demanded, scowling back.

“Sorry,” Jamack said, trying not to let his concern show. Harris was fierce and though he relied on Jamack and Kwat to have his back, he was independent and _hated_ being fussed or worried over. “Guess I bit you harder than I thought.”

“I’m _fine_.” Unable to roll his eyes, Harris settled on shaking his head slightly instead. “You’ve seen me hurt before. _Way_ worse than this.” His breath caught in his throat, and he desperately wished he could suck the words back into his lungs, because all of a sudden he knew what the difference was and he didn’t want to hear Jamack say it, didn’t want either of them to acknowledge it in any way.

“I know,” Jamack agreed. He’d seen Harris take a fall off a dragonfly at high speed and break his arm before he caught himself with his tongue. He’d seen him cut and bloody from being thrown through a broken window. He’d seen his nose and mouth bleeding from fights as a young Frog. But _he’d_ never hurt Harris. He’d never been the cause of it, and that gnawed at him.

A long, awkward moment passed between them. It had never really happened before. They always had some snappy comeback, some scathing retort. Never just…silence. But Harris genuinely had no idea how to respond. How to move past this. He only knew they had to, and quickly, before one of them exploded with things they couldn’t say.

“Am I really softer?” he asked finally. It was still shaky ground, but better than the direction they’d been headed.

Jamack nodded, getting off of Harris entirely and sitting up against the windshield of the car. They still tended to spend their time together on top of the car. There weren’t really a lot of options, and the little garage they’d found was at least private and not in a busy area. And the car was better than the cement floor, which was littered with debris and broken glass. They’d tried inside the car once, but hadn’t wanted to make a mess on the upholstery. Kwat would _murder_ them both if they did.

Jamack’s mood had dipped a little now, his own usual banter quieted.

And now Harris could tell he’d hurt Jamack, and he could begin to understand why it had upset Jamack so much. “You could let me feel the tie sometime.” It was very bold of him, essentially inviting himself into another Mod Frog’s space, but he hoped it would make Jamack laugh, jolt him out of his uncharacteristic silence.

Jamack glanced at him, then smirked. Harris was practically demanding that Jamack tease him. “Oh, you’ll make fun of me for stealing it, but you still want to touch it?”

Harris grinned. “Yep. I figure you owe me at least that much for keeping your secret all these years. Let me be the judge.”

“Fine. You’ll see.”


End file.
